“Nothing deserves to die just because it’s inconvenient!”

They stared at each other; Marra could barely hear her sister’s ragged breathing over the rushing sound in her head. Khree’s frown became more puzzled.

“What is this—“ She blinked, straightened. “Is this about Curdle? You know Father wouldn’t actu—“

“Not Father.” Khree waited silently; after a few moments, Marra sighed again. “The Council.”

“Surely they don’t — I mean, other people have had trouble with flying spells that went wrong?”

Marra shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with the spell. It’s just that I’m no longer the one casting it.”

Khree looked outside, then back at Marra. “But who — you’re the only mage here, and when we were traveling…”

“Who else was there?”

“This isn’t funny.” She huffed. “You, me, the damn mule.”

Marra nodded.

“I’m not a mage.” She sounded almost insulted by the insinuation; in another context, Marra would have laughed. She shook her head instead.

Khree breathed deeply. “That’s not — is that possible? How would she even…? You have to, to make the contract, you have to speak, don’t you? Say words. She doesn’t talk. I mean, she flies, but she doesn’t talk. Please tell me she doesn’t talk.”

“We are taught that the words help us concentrate, focus our intention so that the elementals can understand what we’re asking for. But they’re not strictly necessary, if you have enough will and focus.”

Khree blinked. “Well,” she said in a distant tone, “if there’s any creature in the Lower Kingdoms that has a surplus of both, it’s that mule.”